


The World's Changing Again

by MostlyVoidPartiallySnark



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Connor Says One (1) Bad Word, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hank Says Many, Hank is Connor's dad and anyone who disagrees can physically fight me, Post-Canon, because i for one can't stop thinking about the meaning of life, so neither can Hank, this is Hank after all, with a sprinkle of philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyVoidPartiallySnark/pseuds/MostlyVoidPartiallySnark
Summary: "Enough booze’ll make anyone a philosopher. ‘Til you finally pass out, anyway." Hank and Connor have a chat in the aftermath of the android revolution. Just a bit of light fluff with some musings about the meaning of humanity sprinkled on top.





	The World's Changing Again

The moon shone brightly in the winter sky, a solitary pale glow in a black velvet bed. In the middle of Detroit, the stars were never visible, hadn't been for decades. But the moon was making up for it tonight; wide, full, pregnant with promise, she hung above the city like a gentle goddess.

It was three days since the androids' successful uprising. This city, of all places, needed all the gentleness it could get.

The river was quiet tonight, still in the absence of the city's usual cutting wind. The November cold had driven most human residents indoors – those who remained, at least – and this late, even the androids had largely abandoned the streets. In this tiny, tucked-away corner of the riverfront, only two living creatures moved through the bitter air.

Connor shoved his hands deeper into his pockets – a habit that, while unnecessary, he'd picked up in his time among humans – and approached the man on the bench with measured steps. The soft crunch of snow announced his presence for him; the man's silence was enough of an invitation to continue. Words, he'd learned, weren't always necessary.

He brushed a small snowdrift off the bench before he sat. For several minutes, the only sound in the night was the distant river and liquid sloshing against glass as his companion took a swig from his drink. It was an easy silence, a comfortable silence, the sort shared between two people who know each other deeply and accept each other entirely.

"D'you ever see the stars, Connor?"

Connor raised an eyebrow before drawing both together in confusion. He turned to give Hank a sidelong glance. "No, I can't say I have," he said as he turned his gaze back to the river. "Not in person, anyway," he amended.

Hank huffed and took another sip. "Most people 'round here haven't," he muttered. "You grow up in this city, all you see is…" He trailed off and waved his bottle, gesturing at the softly glowing skyline across the water. "That." He raised the bottle to his mouth, paused, then let his hand drop.

They were quiet for another moment, then Connor murmured, "Have _you_ ever seen the stars?"

Hank was silent for a long moment, long enough for Connor to turn and give him a curious look. He wore an odd expression, something like nostalgia, but…not.

"Hank?" Connor prompted softly.

"Yeah, I've seen the stars," the old man said gruffly. He thrust himself up off the bench and practically stalked away, toward the railing separating this corner of the park from the river proper. Reflexively, Connor rose when he did, although he did not follow.

The silence stretched between them, thinning and fraying until Hank finally asked, "Why the fuck are you here, Connor?" There was no real anger in his question, though he at least tried to sound heated.

He could lie. He could say something that would soothe Hank's ego and bolster his mood. It would be easy; he was an excellent liar, when he wanted to be. But he didn't want that. Not now.

"I was worried about you," Connor admitted. "You've been withdrawing lately, as if something's bothering you, and I know-"

He stopped himself, almost biting his lip to keep the words in: _I know what that can mean for you._ He and Hank had never really discussed the latter's suicidal tendencies, and now really didn't feel like the right time to bring them up. Not when Hank was already in a mood and had been drinking to boot.

Which, to be fair, was most of the time.

Thankfully, Hank didn't seem to notice his almost-slip. He waved his free hand dismissively and raised the one still holding the bottle. "I'm _fine_ ," he insisted, though the words were rather undercut by the pique in them. He took a healthy swig – the bottle had to be nearly empty by now – before adding, "Ain't nothin' _botherin'_ me, Connor, so you can fuck back off to wherever you've been hangin' out lately."

Connor raised his eyebrows but otherwise remained still. "Ah, yes," he said flatly. "You've convinced me. I'm so incredibly moved by your obvious sincerity."

He could practically hear Hank roll his eyes. "Sarcastic little shit," he muttered into his bottle.

The hint of a smile teased the corner of Connor's lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. "What's wrong, Hank?" he asked. "And don't tell me it's nothing."

Hank heaved a harsh, if longsuffering, sigh. "S'not like you'd leave me alone if I tried, huh?" he grumbled.

Now Connor did smile. "No," he admitted. "Not really."

Hank grumbled and groused to himself some more, tried to take another drink, dropped the bottle with a muttered "This bitch empty," and wandered over to lean against the railing. Connor moved toward him, pausing only to swoop down and gently toss the bottle into a nearby trash can before folding his arms on the railing beside Hank.

They formed quite the contrasting pair to the outside observer. Connor, straight-backed and clean-cut, still looked the picture of a rising professional. Hank, disheveled and buried under mismatched layers, slumped against the railing like a half-dead vagrant. It was hard to see the companionship between the two from any sort of distance, but it was something Connor, for one, wouldn't trade for the world.

The air finally moved, the faintest breeze from the river brushing their hair with delicate fingers. It almost seemed to act as a trigger for Hank, who murmured, "The world's changin' again, Connor."

Connor blinked, the LED on his temple flashing yellow as he considered his response. "That's one way of putting it," he agreed, raising his eyebrows and nodding. "Though I think it's a pretty big understatement."

Hank snorted. "No shit," he muttered. Then, louder: "Y'know, I was around before androids were big. Before Kamski, before CyberLife, before any of this." He waved one arm vaguely, as if trying to encompass the whole modern world in a single gesture. "An' lemme tell ya, when Kamski came out with his first android, the world lost its shit. You'd think he'd just invented fuckin' sliced bread or somethin'."

Connor smiled faintly. "I can imagine," he murmured.

"You have no idea," Hank insisted. "D'you realize it only took sixteen years for androids to get this popular? Less than two decades, and you can't swing a dead cat without hittin' one. 's incredible, really."

“What are you getting at, Hank?”

Hank was quiet for a moment, letting the breeze speak in the silence. “I dunno,” he finally admitted, sounding resigned to the fact. “I guess I thought I understood the world, y’know? Even after androids started getting off the ground, shit still made sense. For the most part,” he amended under his breath.

Connor smirked. “As much as it ever did?” he offered.

Hank nodded. “But now we’ve got _this_ ,” he continued, waving his arm again. “God creates man, man creates android, android gains sentience, and now what? What’s that _mean_ , Connor? We always thought humans were so _special_ , but now we’ve got this whole other kind of life that _we made_ , and what does that mean for us? About who we are? What did we _do_?”

Connor processed this impromptu speech in silence for a moment. “I never took you for the philosophical type,” he finally admitted.

Hank snorted. “Enough booze’ll make anyone a philosopher. ‘Til you finally pass out, anyway.”

A quick scan reassured Connor that his friend was in no danger of doing so just yet. Comfortable in the knowledge, he nodded and returned his gaze to the still water of the river below. “It’s a good question,” he admitted softly. “And it’s not one I have the answer to. But,” he continued over Hank’s mutterings, “humans have struggled with their identity for thousands of years. You have writings going back millennia wrestling with the question of what sets humanity apart.” He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe this is just another piece of the puzzle.”

Then he glanced over at Hank. “Or maybe,” he added, “the fact that humanity made a new form of life has nothing to do with what you are inherently, and more to do what you what you decide to be.”

Hank hummed in thought. “Maybe,” he said, so softly Connor almost didn’t hear. Then he heaved himself upright and promptly wobbled, only steadying with Connor’s quick assistance. “But _I_ haven’t had enough to drink to think about _that_ ,” he declared.

Connor chuckled and started carefully guiding Hank back toward his car. “Let’s get you home, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’ll drive.”

“The fuck you will,” Hank protested.

“The fuck _you_ will,” Connor retorted.

“I’m _fine_!”

“You are anything but.” With a pickpocket’s grace, Connor plucked Hank’s keys from his coat pocket and rattled them, still supporting most of the other man’s weight.

Hank pawed haphazardly for the keys, but it wasn’t difficult for Connor to keep them out of reach. “Fine,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ stubborn-ass android.”

“Cranky old man.” But he was smiling as he said it.


End file.
